Lazarus Rising
by Anonymonimus
Summary: Just when Dean thinks he'll be stuck in Hell forever, the Angels come to save him. However, the rescue mission doesn't go as smoothly as it should and now Dean is stuck finding an alternative way out of Hell with a wounded angel named Castiel while daemons chase after them.
1. Perdition

**Potential series I got going on here**

**If you like and want more chapters don't forget to leave a comment (4 reviews are required to unlock the next chapter)**

**In any case, ENJOY!**

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It's hot and unbearable but Dean has slowly grown accustomed to the infernal temperatures of Hell. He's been rotting in the pit for what feels like 40 years now and Alastair says he'll eventually embrace the insane heat. Alastair claims he doesn't notice it anymore though Dean has seen him fan himself briefly on more than one occasion. In any case, the heat wasn't as terrible as it once was – perhaps there is some amount of truth to what had been told. Nevertheless, Dean knows he will never get used to the horrifying sights surrounding him.

Hell seems endless with a constantly changing landscape. The only thing that remains somewhat consistent is the web of chains up in the realm's sky and the flashes of lightning followed by thunder and terrified shrieks of tortured souls. Dean spends most of what he refers to as 'nights' looking up at it and thinking. Sometimes he thinks he catches glimpses of light far away which he has come to identify as the way out of Hell. A part of him strongly believes that if he can just find a way to climb up to it he can be free but he never attempts.

Dean only tried to flee from Alastair once and it hadn't gone entirely well. His absence had been noticed rather quickly and the price he had paid for his disobedience was as worse as any torture he had suffered during his initial thirty years in the pit. Alastair had warned him that if he ever tried to flee again, he would be put back on the torture table for all eternity. Dean is too afraid to test the threat.

Notwithstanding of the fact that Alastair had tortured him mercilessly for three decades, he and Dean got along fairly well. Alastair definitely finds pleasure in his job and honestly hates leaving Hell when he is summoned or tasked to do so. He is a relatively good and surprisingly patient teacher, rarely snapping at Dean for his reluctance in committing certain acts. He seems to understand that Dean is very much human and that that part of him will not burn away any time soon. As he puts it: "I've got all of eternity to see you turn".

The 'day' has ended and Dean retreats to the room Alastair had once brought him to upon his release from the rack ten years prior. Even though the terrain shifts constantly, the room he has come to see as home remains in the same location and Dean can always find his way to it. He is rarely bothered by daemons anymore now that Alastair has officially taken him under his wing and – for a demented reason – he's rather thankful. Some do still try to get their hands on him for revenge's sake but Alastair has taken the liberty of providing him with the tools necessary to defend himself. Of course, he had to earn them and the feats he had to accomplish had been far from easy. In any case, Dean is as safe as he is ever going to be in Hell.

He barely falls onto the stone bed when he feels the familiar presence of his mentor invade the room. Dean nonetheless doesn't spare him a glance and gets comfortable before shifting on his side. "What's up?" He asks.

"I'll be leaving for a short while." Alastair informs, "I want you to make sure the others under my command fulfill their tasks. If they do not, you know what to do."

"Where are you going?" Dean asks curiously.

"Business at the Gate." Alastair says and he seems partially annoyed, "Some scuffle the buffoons can't manage on their own."

The mention of the Gate has Dean's heart throbbing and beating painfully in his chest. A sort of excitement and hope takes over him and has him sitting in seconds as his mind begins to race. He wonders if the Gate really is the light he occasionally sees in the gloomy sky. He wonders if he could escape if he follows Alastair. Alastair senses the thoughts crossing his protégé's mind and smirks as he takes steps closer to Dean and leans in. When he stops, his lips are inches away from Dean's ear and the tickling of his breath unnerves him to no end. He whispers: "Remember the warning I gave you Dean-o. If you try to follow me, you'll be back where you started in seconds for all of eternity this time, understood?"

Dean gulps audibly and nods briefly. Alastair pulls away and stands upright.

"Wonderful." He says, "This also doesn't give you an excuse to slack with your job."

"Yeah, I know." Dean mumbles. "Have fun."

And just as such, Alastair is gone. Dean pauses for a minute and makes sure he is completely alone before curling in on himself and sobbing. He isn't sure how he manages to produce the tears in an environment in which he feels severely dehydrated all the time though he supposes Spirits in Hell don't necessarily abide by the laws of human biology and logic. And so he cries and cries and remembers his life when he was alive which only makes him feel worse. Dean misses Sam. He misses, Bobby, Ellen and Jo too. He didn't even have the chance to say goodbye. He hopes they're okay and looking out for Sam – God knows the kid is lost without him. But Dean trusts in Sam and in his strength and believes he can defeat and overcome whatever is hurled his way.

And so Dean spends the 'night' as such. When 'morning' comes, he returns to the torturing tables and supervises the other daemons as commanded by Alastair. They all seem strangely focused but Dean brushes it off as something positive. He goes to his station and commences torturing as well. The first soul he is served on that day is a young woman that was once a drug dealer. She is utterly frightened and confused – an obvious newcomer to Hell.

"Please!" She begs Dean and struggles against her restraints, "Help me!"

Her tone changes quickly as she sees Dean scan his tools, debating which to use first. She begins to beg for mercy and forgiveness and Dean finds himself unfazed. He has grown immune to the pitiful apologies and cries of his victims over the decade and has actually begun to find a certain degree of enjoyment in what he does. He supposes it's normal considering Hell _is_ burning away his humanity. One day he will become a daemon and forget himself in the process.

Dean settles on the scalpel. He figures he'll start small and gradually get bigger. He did always prefer his smaller tools. They permitted for more precise and detailed incisions.

The following part is like a dance to him. Dean swings the scalpel brilliantly, cutting through the flesh as though it were softer than butter. Drops of blood splash in every direction, dotting all of the surrounding surfaces. The girl shrieks louder than a banshee and remains rigid and tense as Dean cuts through her. Though she still struggles for freedom, Dean has learned long ago how to make the slices and slashes he desires on an agitated target. Alastair had been particularly proud in regards to how fast he had caught on.

When Dean stops, his hands are soaked in the girl's blood and she's a whimpering mess. She tries to stay as still as possible to minimize the pain surging through her body but she has yet to realize logic ever rarely matters in Hell. The dark realm has a set of laws of its own and they are very different from those of Earth.

He looks back at his tools, now struggling between a crooked dagger and pliers. He supposes it has been a while since he's denailed one of the souls presented to him. Dean reaches for the pliers and with a snap of his fingers, the girl's fingers and secured. Alastair had taught him the trick shortly after being released from the torture tables. One of Hell's many laws was that the imagination of daemons shaped the realm. Typically, the strongest daemons were the most creative – and consequently the most disturbed. "You're only limited by your imagination." Alastair had told him.

"Please stop!" the girl begged through ragged sobs as Dean squeezed the tip of her fingernail between the pincers, "I'm sorry! Please! I—"

Dean dryly yanks the nail from her finger and pulls a gut-wrenching screech from the new soul. She wails pitifully and grossly upon recovering from the pain and Dean readies another finger. He tells himself to use said torture method more often seeing as the results are quite…_lovely_.

He pulls out another nail so as to distract his conscience but it fails. As the girl breathes heavily and whimpers from the pain, Dean pauses and reflects on his recent thought. Never once in his life had he killed or hurt anything that didn't deserve it or hadn't attacked him first. In any case, to delight in the pain and agony of another human being was still disgusting and Dean begins to second guess his actions. He looks at his trembling hands and wonders just how much as Hell corrupted his soul.

Just then the piercing shrieks of daemons fills the air. Dean is panicked and confused – he doesn't understand what is happening when he sees a blue light zoom pass him. It goes directly for the daemon a couple of meters away and smites him. Dean backs away in pure terror, wondering if the creature will come for him next but, instead, it moves on to another daemon. Soon more of them appear and kill everyone except for Dean – seemingly ignoring him. Dean is still terrified and doesn't know what to do. Alastair has never mentioned whatever those things are and so Dean has no idea how to deal with them.

Suddenly, one of the moves to him and it's so close that Dean can tell it's a man and it has wings. He flaps them gently and the cool breeze it creates washes over him and Dean unexpectedly feels pure. He allows the sensation to wash over him for an instant, basking in it until he is compelled to open his eyes and sees the winged man reach out for him. He seems to be inviting more than anything and Dean feels urged to follow.

"_Come_…" He says.

His voice is soft and gentle. He oozes with love and kindness and Dean doesn't understand how something so beautiful – so angelic – can be found in such a rotten place. Nonetheless, Dean hesitates. He is unsure whether or not he should obey and looks around for advice. However, those who have been with him for ten years have been smitten and the only one who can tell Dean what to do is Dean himself. He looks back at the pure being in front of him and begins to see his face. The creature resembles a human man – short hair, strong jawline and plush lips – the only dissimilarity being the large white wings.

"Come…" he repeats and his tone sounds a bit more urgent than before.

Dean spares one last glance around him before slowly stretching out his arm to meet the winged man's welcoming hand. Their fingers brush and the sensation of peace and quaintness is like electricity – as odd as the comparison is. Dean is at a loss of words and doesn't know what to say or ask the angelic being but it seems to assess the general idea of his long train of thought.

"Do not worry, Dean Winchester." He says softly and takes all of Dean's hand in his, "You are leaving this wretched place."

And Dean couldn't help the tears that trail down his face. If he was being tormented by a daemon's illusion, he would surely never recover from it. The being pulls him closer and looks at chained sky in which the light Dean occasionally saw can be seen clearer than day. They exchange one last look before Dean is pulled firmly against the man's broad and strong figure. The action surprises him but not as much as the sudden and powerful flap of wings that propels them towards the light.

Everything seems like a dream, Dean can hardly believe this is happening. He feels like he will wake up any second and be disappointed by what surrounds him. Nonetheless, he hopes he doesn't wake up. He doesn't want to be in Hell all over again and despair that no one would ever come save him.

"You are safe, Dean Winchester." The man tells him and holds him closer – almost as though hugging him. "You are sav—"

Out of the blue, a black mass collides with Dean and his saviour, halting their progress and rendering the pure creature confused. The winged man looks around for the assailant when Dean suddenly spots Alastair standing angrily on one of the many chains in the sky. He seems livid and his vicious eyes burn through Dean's soul, inspiring the worst terror he has ever felt.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…" he shakes his head disappointedly. "What did I tell you would happen if you tried to escape?"

Out of pure fear and instinct, Dean clutches to the man's chest and looks at him in desperation. He hopes his saviour won't abandon him. God knows the punishment Alastair has installed will be worse than everything he has ever experienced and will last him the rest of eternity. However, the winged man doesn't shrink at Alastair's hinted threat and flaps his wings menacingly and growls.

"You _will_ _not_ harm him." He hisses.

And just like that, with another powerful beat, Dean and the winged man are propelled closer to the light. They are moving impossibly fast and yet Alastair has found a way to keep up. Dean realizes they're in the midst of a race and he hopes his saviour will win.

What happens next is a blur.

It seems like the exit to Hell is only inches away and the winged man reaches for it but never quite touches it. A heavy mass collides with them again and Dean is unsure if it's Alastair or a different daemon. In any case, one second they're flying and the next they're falling. And then everything goes black.


	2. Saviour

**Fun fact that you probably didn't know unless you're as obsessed with History as I am:**

_**Purgatory was a concept invented by Pope Leon X as a way to frighten people into donating more money to the Church for reasons. People were terrified of spending time in Purgatory so they willingly gave up what little money they had to be forgiven of their sins and avoid the waiting room. That action actually pissed off the more educated people like Luther and it became one of the reasons why des religions protestantes (excuse my French) emerged.**_

**Now, Enjoy! :D**

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When Dean comes to, he is surrounded by whiteness. It's practically blinding and he can't help but wince at its intensity. Dean could have sworn he and the winged man had fallen just before reaching the exit but his new surrounding seem to dictate otherwise. He wonders where he is now and in what realm he has wandered to. Everything seems empty and vacant and he wonders if this is maybe purgatory – though History would suggest it to be highly unlikely.

It's only when he reaches forward for no particular reason and that his hand brushes soft feathers that he realizes he is not in a different realm. Dean shifts his gaze downwards where he has finally become aware of a certain sensation and sees a pair of arms wrapped around his waist protectively. When he pivots to see the clearly comatose winged man, he expects a blue hue to blind him but it is not there. He can see his features as clear as day. Though he is unconscious, he seems to be in pain and upon further inspection Dean realizes it's because his left wing is broken. Regardless of that fact, his massive wings still cocoon them protectively and Dean almost wants to stay within its confines forever – he doesn't want to face the nightmare on the other side. In any case, his saviour is rather handsome though Dean can't help but notice how he resembles a tax collector. He has short, dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin and a scruff covering his square jaw. Clothes-wise, he wears a black suit with a white dress shirt and a blue tie all of which is covered by a beige trench coat.

"Hey…" Dean finally says and nudges him gently. "Wake up."

The winged man's eyes flutter open revealing bright blue irises. He is already very handsome and, to Dean, his gorgeous eyes seem like an overkill – he is surely a lady-killer. "Dean Winchester." He says almost in relief as a smile graces his lips, "Are you hurt?"

"N-no…" Dean stutters and his eyes shift to the great white wings as they are retracted and folded against the winged man's back. He releases his waist to sit upright and Dean mimics his movement dumbly. "How do you know my name?"

"My name is Castiel." He answers, "I am an Angel of the Lord and I have been watching you for a long time."

"An Angel?" Dean repeats incredulously.

"Yes." Castiel confirms.

"Angels aren't real." Dean says, shaking his head as though the action would denounce Castiel as an illusion.

"If you believe in daemons, is it such a stretch to believe in Angels, Dean Winchester?" Castiel asks.

"I believe in what I see." Dean states with a heavy frown.

"You see me, do you not?" Castiel says, cocking his head to the left.

"I'm in _Hell_." Dean reminds, "You could be a daemon posing as an Angel for all I know. If you are, you did a shit job with the disguise."

Castiel looks at himself with a heavy frown, "I apologize if my appearance offends you." He says, "I have taken my only willing vessel to come save you because my true form is far less inconspicuous."

"…What." Dean breathes and he feels himself getting frustrated.

"In any case," Castiel dismisses absently, "We must hurry. Daemons are surely patrolling the area for you and we must get out of this wretched place as soon as possible—"

"Hold on—" Dean objects and jumps to his feet, "Why the hell should I go anywhere with you?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord. I have come to save you." Castiel answers and is visibly perplexed with his say so isn't enough for Dean.

"And I'm Oprah." Dean says sarcastically.

"No you are not." Castiel says after a moment of confused silence, "You are Dean—"

"Sarcasm!" Dean snaps and takes a step back, "I'm not going to follow you until you prove you're…_you_."

"This is not the time—"

"Proof!" Dean insists, interrupting Castiel.

"Daemons are looking for us." Castiel says with a low growl, "One of them is Alastair and I remember him promising to deliver a threat. Do you really wish to risk facing his wrath?"

Dean freezes at the thought. Alastair's torture was the worst. Choosing between he and Castiel now seems like a relatively easy choice and yet Dean can't help himself. "I don't care." He lies. "I want proof."

Castiel frowns and takes a step closer to Dean. Dean flinches, wanting to keep the other at a safe distance but before he can, Castiel presses two fingers to his forehead. A sense of peace and tranquility wash over Dean and his eyes flutter shut as he basks in the sensation. There's a strange ringing in his ears and as it gets louder, Dean realizes _they are the voices of Angels_. Their tones are melodious and he can't quite grasp what they're saying – or singing, Dean isn't exactly sure – but he hears his name. Eventually he can make out a sentence.

"_Save Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man._"

Castiel pulls his fingers away and Dean opens his eyes. "Do you believe me now?" Castiel asks.

"I…I guess…" Dean mutters.

"Good. Now follow me." Castiel says and begins to walk in what seems to be a random direction. "My wing is broken and I cannot heal at my proper rhythm in this foul place. We will have to walk."

"You can _walk_ out of Hell?" Dean asks, surprised.

"Of course." Castiel responds and points at the small light high in the chained sky, "You cannot see it very well but there is a mountain that leads to the Gate."

Lightning flashes just as Castiel finishes and Dean can finally see the vague outline of what the Angel is referring to. "How are we going to get there?" Dean asks, "The landscape constantly changes, we'll never make it."

"Untrue." Castiel states, "The landscape may shift but the path remains the same. We must follow it."

"What happens if we go through?" Dean asks. He jogs a bit to stay closer to Castiel. "Do I go to Heaven or something?"

"_When_ we leave, you go back to Earth." Castiel explains, "You still have much to do there. It is not yet time for you to ascend to Heaven."

Dean is a bit disappointed – if he's honest with himself. He's happy to know he'll be reunited with Sam, Bobby, Ellen and Jo but death has a certain peace to it. He remembers when he was alive he was always exhausted and wanting time to relax but never got it. He supposes it was only natural considering he was living the life of a Hunter but he had never chosen said path. In any case, being on Earth and exhausted is a thousand times better than rotting in the pit and forgetting himself.

"How long is it going to take us?" Dean asks.

"I do not know." Castiel admits, "I have never done it before. In fact, this is my first time in Hell."

"Great." Dean huffs sarcastically, "We're definitely going to get lost."

"Highly unlikely." Castiel states, "The army of Angels sent to collect you have memorized the path in case of such an event. We will eventually find our way out."

"Right…" Dean mutters and remembers the other Angelic entities he spotted smiting daemons. There were quite a lot, some bigger than Castiel and now they were nowhere to be found. "What happened to the others?"

"They left." Castiel answers, "Did you not hear them speak?"

"I only heard them say _Save Dean Winchester._" Dean says.

"Ah, yes." Castiel says, "They were speaking to me. I am the only one left and they are counting on me to raise you from perdition."

"Yeah…" Dean mumbles and his voice momentarily fades. "Tell me something." He says after a short silence, "Why does God give two shits about me? I mean, I'm not exactly the kindest or most important being in the world."

"You are wrong." Castiel says, "You are more important than you could ever imagine. You are the Righteous Man and humanity will need you in the coming days preceding your resurrection."

"Why?" Dean asks and he speeds up to be able to look at Castiel's face as he walks, "What's so important that only _I_ can do?"

"You are the Sword of Michael." Castiel responds and smiles, "You will stop the Apocalypse."

Dean is dumbstruck by the revelation. "Me?" he repeats. "Why me?"

"As I said, you are the Sword of Michael." Castiel says coolly, "Not everyone can be Michael's vessel. His potential vessels must be from a specific bloodline which you fit. He favours you above all the others."

"Michael?" Dean asks, "Michael as in the Archangel Michael?"

"Who else would I refer to?" Castiel asks in return.

"This is insane." Dean breathes and he stops walking. He is overwhelmed by the information that is being given to him. It seems far too incredible to be true. One second he is suffering in Hell, the next an army of Angels comes to his rescue and one of them informs him that he is destined to save the world as the Archangel Michael's vessel. No one was ever that important, it was just something that happened in the movies – or, at least, not to him. He is Dean Winchester and he is a normal guy as far as Hunters go.

"Are you alright, Dean Winchester?" Castiel asks with concern and inches closer, "You seem troubled."

"I am!" Dean snaps and he can't help his rude tone. "How do you think I feel right now?"

"I cannot say." Castiel admits, "I am not particularly good at discerning emotions."

"This is insane." Dean huffs and he suddenly realizes he's hyperventilating.

"Dean Winchester…?" Castiel asks slowly.

"O-oh god…" He stutters and leans against a red rock nearby for support, "I-I think I'm having a panic attack…How is that even possible!? I'm supposed to be dead, I'm not supposed to suffer from anxiety and all that crap!"

"That is only true for Heaven." Castiel explains. "Hell will not provide you with such peace."

"You're _not_ helping!" Dean growls and slowly crumbles to his knees. "Oh my god…"

Dean continues to panic, feeling his heart throb painfully in his chest and every fiber of his body shake as Castiel stares at him awkwardly. The Angel is evidently unaware of what he's supposed to do in such a situation.

"Do something!" Dean snaps.

"I do not know—"

"Of course you don't!" Dean interrupts angrily. "Oh my god, oh my god…!" he huffs and tries to control his breathing but it isn't working. "Why the fuck would you dump all that shit on me!? Did you think I'd react well!? I thought you've been watching me for a long time! You should have known better!"

"I apologize—"

"I don't want your damn apology! It's too late now!" Dean growls and throws his head back, staring at the chained sky, "I just want to calm down!"

There's a brief pause in their conversation during which Dean mutters to himself and whispers encouragements to calm down though they barely do anything. He feels Castiel's eyes upon him, assessing him and he thinks that's all he'll do until he takes a couple of steps forward and presses two fingers to his head again. A sense of peace and tranquility wash over him like the first time Castiel had done the action and Dean's panic attack immediately subsides. When Castiel pulls away, he releases a relieved sigh but remains seated on the dusty ground for a minute.

"Are you feeling better?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah…" Dean croaks.

"I am truly sorry, Dean Winchester—"

"Don't." Dean interrupts.

"I beg your pardon?" Castiel asks, confusion painting his face.

"Dean is fine and I don't want to hear your apology." Dean breaths. "Getting me the hell out of here will be as good and even better than that." He extends his hand to Castiel and waits a moment before adding: "Help me up."

Castiel does as he is commanded and Dean brushes his pants clean once he is on his feet. He looks his hands over and finds them perfectly stable which is a relief. He then turns his gaze to Castiel who seems lost in thoughts as he looks Dean over. Seeing as he is socially inept and doesn't quite understand the complexity behind humans, Dean wonders if his bewilderment is in regards to the panic attack he recently suffered from or his general reactions to what Castiel had to say.

"We should go." Castiel finally says and leads the way again, "There are daemons not far behind."

Dean nods and follows a step behind. During the long hours of the 'day' they spent walking, Dean observes Castiel's back and reflects on what he has been told. He doesn't quite understand what it means to be the vessel of an Archangel – or an Angel for that matter – but he assumes it's relatively similar to how a daemon takes over a human hosts and makes use of their body. He also doesn't understand why Michael favours him above all the other vessels he has the option to choose from but supposes he could be an ideal choice. Though he does fancy himself as normal, Dean reckons he is physically stronger and handy with weapons than most average people. He also has an extensive knowledge on all things supernatural which could easily be useful. However, Dean doesn't know who the other potential vessels are – one of them could be a war veteran or something with even more combat training.

Eventually the 'night' falls. Dean allows Castiel to lead the way for a couple more hours before he finally decides to say something. "Let's stop for now." Dean suggests.

"That would be a terrible idea." Castiel says. "We are being followed by daemons and the second we stop we will be attacked."

"I don't know if it's because you're an Angel or something," Dean says and takes a seat on the ground, leaning against a rock wall. "But you clearly have more energy than me. I'm human and I need to rest. Being fueled with adrenaline does help to some extent but its worn off now. I need to rest."

Castiel still hesitates but ultimately gives in. "Alright." He says slowly and eyes their surroundings wearily. They had wandered into a valley and giant rock walls bordered the side of the path they followed. "How long do you need?"

"At least four hours." Dean says and gets comfortable against the wall – which is virtually impossible.

Castiel stares at him quietly before sitting next to him and offering his non broken wing as a pillow. Dean looks unsure whether to accept the offer or not. "You will not hurt me." Castiel assures, "And this option is far more comfortable than the one you were about to settle for."

Dean nods and leans into the fluffy white feathers. Castiel's wing makes for a soft pillow and Dean finds himself snuggling into it eagerly. He hasn't been this comfortable in decades. However, he still jolts when he feels some of the feathers curl around his body.

"Do not worry." Castiel says softly, "I will keep you safe, Dean."

"I'm not a chick." Dean grumbles and he feels sleep weighing on him. "I can take care of myself." He yawns.

"Women are capable of defending themselves as well as men." Castiel says, "However, I was not trying to imply you were weak with my previous statement. Though you _are_ at a disadvantage."

"How so?" Dean asks and his eyelids are feeling particularly heavy.

"Your exorcisms and demon traps are of no use here." Castiel explains, "The tricks you have acquired as a Hunter are virtually useless now that you are playing by the rules of Hell."

When he finishes his sentence, Castiel notices Dean has already fallen asleep. He smiles at the peaceful expression on Dean's face and pulls him closer so as to partially lay on him as he slept. Castiel hopes the daemons surrounding them will not yet make a move and allow Dean the time necessary to rest – however daemons aren't exactly known for being kind and thoughtful. In any case, no matter what happens, Castiel vows to protect the Righteous Man.

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	3. Eyes

**Someone mentioned to me that they thought Castiel's wings were black (which is true, I suppose) and was curious on why I decided to describe them as white and fluffy. This was really just a personal choice with the following reason: In the show, Castiel says that he has wings but human senses are too dull to perceive them so when he does 'show' his 'wings' he's actually just showing their shadow (which is why they're black). Seeing as Dean is in Hell _and_ is a Spirit, I figure that his senses are heightened and he can see Castiel's true form and his real wings. **

**Just a personal head canon because beautiful white fluffy wings are what I love about angels lol**

**If you have questions, like the previous asker, don't hesitate to do so. I'll be happy to answer any and all of them.**

**ENJOY!**

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Dean wakes up when he feels like he's being squeezed into a tight hug. He has a bit of trouble breathing and is too confused and sleepy to say anything coherent for a moment. He looks up at Castiel and wonders when he has gotten so close to the Angel's face. Then Dean notices his agitated expression and begins to worry. Castiel is glaring at something and when Dean looks to see what, he finds five daemons standing menacingly a couple of meters away. Unlike the ones Dean has been around for roughly ten years, they do not maintain a somewhat human figure and reveal their true forms. They are black and red with sharp, crooked fangs and burnt flesh.

The landscape has changed from when Dean had fallen asleep. The valley had now become a plain with mountains of skulls and entrails evenly spaced for as far as the eye could see. They were nonetheless still seated on the ground and Castiel seems to hesitate to stand because he thinks Dean is still sleeping. Dean eventually nudges himself away, drawing Castiel's attention to him for a brief moment. He is immediately released and Castiel is on his feet, wielding a silver blade which he twirls in his hand with anticipation.

Dean isn't exactly sure what he should do. He is unarmed and his exorcisms are of no use in Hell. He hates feeling defenseless and being forced out of a confrontation but it would be irrational to stubbornly stay and so he takes a step back. He will watch Castiel's back as he fights off the five daemons seeing as it's the only thing he can do right now.

"An Angel so far in Hell…" one of them cackles and takes a step forward, flinching when Castiel grasps his blade tightly. "Abandoned by the flock."

"I'm going to enjoy tearing you to shreds." Another hisses.

Castiel remains stoic and doesn't indulge in their badgering. Instead he observes them attentively, anticipating which would make the first move. Turns out it's the one furthest back who has the guts to go up against him. He jumps ahead of the others and dashes forth, closing the space in between he and Castiel in seconds. However, his attack doesn't go as he planned for he is impaled on the silver blade and ultimately destroyed by its magic.

Another daemon tries to take advantage of Castiel's momentary distraction and goes in for a potentially lethal blow as he tries to jerk his weapon free. But Castiel isn't as defenseless as he seems without his blade. He swiftly interrupts the daemon's action by pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead and using his magic to destroy it in seconds. The three remaining daemons are intimidated by Castiel's efficiency and Dean realizes they had thought him to be an easy prey considering his wounded state.

The first daemon to speak hisses and dashes forth, clearly the bravest and yet most stupid of the three. Castiel yanks his blade free and counters the daemon's attack with a swing which the latter manages to barely dodge. The daemon reshapes his hand so as to make a spear and lunges forward, aiming for Castiel's bowels though the Angel pivots out of the way and promptly stabs his opponent in the head. The other two daemons understand that if they try to face Castiel, they will die and so attempt retreat. Castiel, however, does not allow it.

He chases down the daemons in seconds, seemingly hovering above the ground and moving exceptionally fast with the help of his unbroken wing. The two last daemons are smitten almost immediately, their cries echoing through the plains. And then Castiel is by Dean's side again. He is covered in black blood but seems unbothered by it.

"There are more nearby." Castiel informs. "They have heard the last one's cry. We have to move. Are you sufficiently rested?"

"Yeah…" Dean answers, "I slept really well, almost like it was more than four hours…"

"It was seven." Castiel informs and takes Dean's hand to lead him away and keep him close all at once. "I allowed you as much sleep as our enemies would provide."

"I told you four hours would be plenty." Dean frowns.

"Your soul is exhausted, Dean." Castiel says, "It needs more time than you think to rest."

"God…" Dean huffs angrily, "The rules for this thing is so confusing…"

"They hard to keep track of." Castiel concedes, "Though they generally function the same way as your human body would with a couple of exceptions. For example, you are not prone to hunger or hydration but you are to sleep and rest and physical injuries."

"Yeah, thanks Einstein." Dean rolls his eyes.

"My name is Castiel." Castiel correct.

Dean is momentarily muted by the Angel's incapability to grasp sarcasm. "I was…whatever."

They walk fast. Dean tries to pull his hand free a couple of times but Castiel holds on tightly. He thinks that if Dean walks without his assistance, he will slow their pace and they can't afford to do that in their current position. They swerve around the mountains of skull and entrails, avoiding the daemons Dean can't see but Castiel can sense. Whenever Dean tries to start a leisurely conversation to pass the time, he is immediately shut down by Castiel – most likely because there are daemons nearby that could over hear them.

Things only look up when the ground begins to shake so much so that the two stumble over and the landscape changes. They are suddenly in the middle of a forest with black, leafless trees. It provides more cover and has moved the daemons around, giving them sufficient distance away to not worry as much. However, they are consequently moved further away from the path they have to take to escape Hell and so have to waste time trying to find it. They hope they will not cross daemons once they've found it again.

It takes them a couple of hours before stumbling on the path again and resuming their way. Castiel makes no comment of their surroundings though still holds a tight grip on Dean's hand. Dean doesn't see any daemons around but he reckons he doesn't have the Angel's acute senses. However, he also figures that if there was anything dangerous around them, he would have said something and warned Dean the second he sensed it. And yet the persistent grip on his hand summons worry and doubt.

"So…" Dean tries to start a conversation again and pauses, waiting for Castiel to tell him to be quiet again. When he doesn't Dean assumes there really is nothing to worry about. "Are you going to hold my hand the entire way?"

"I would prefer it." Castiel replies, "You tend to walk a few paces behind me and it worries me because I can't see you."

"Then I'll walk next to you." Dean says and pulls his hand free and does as he said he would. "Better?"

"Yes."

Silence falls upon them and Dean feels strangely unnerved by it. He doesn't know why but the eerie forest of black trees and the fact that they're in Hell are definitely at the base of it. He looks around agitatedly and cranks his neck to look at the bordering trees in different angles. A part of him feels like they are being followed and watched. However Dean reasons, once again, that if it were truly the case, Castiel would have said something.

Dean shifts his gaze to the ground of a moment, stepping over a half buried skull he wouldn't have noticed otherwise and settles his eyes on Castiel's wings. They are folded neatly on his back though his left one is awkwardly place so as to limit the pain the Angel must surely be feeling. Though they are abnormally big and the feathers are particularly fluffy, Dean thinks they look exactly like a bird's. He hasn't had a normal childhood but he has mended a couple of wounded sparrows and feels like he can probably do something for Castiel.

He slows his pace and moves behind the Angel as they continue to walk. "You said—"

"I know what I said." Dean interrupts, rolling his eyes as he brushes his fingers through the soft feathers. He shudders at the relaxing sensation of purity which never fails to take over his body whenever he comes in contact with Castiel. "I'm going to try to help you."

"You do not need to concern yourself with me." Castiel reassures and tries to move Dean away but he remains in place unwaveringly. "I will be better when we escape."

"Yeah and until then, I'll make sure you don't make your wound worse." Dean says and Castiel begins to think he'll have an answer for everything. Dean glides his hand through the feathers and barely grazes the broken part but still earns a flinch of pain from Castiel. "How much does it hurt?"

"I am fine, Dean." Castiel lies.

"Liar." Dean outs. "Now hold on a minute." He says and forces Castiel to stop walking and kneel so he can get a better look at the wounded wing. Dean frowns upon seeing that the broken bones aren't joint together as they should be. "I need to rearrange your bone." Dean says and gently takes a hold of both extremities. "It's going to hurt…a lot."

Castiel simply nods and lets Dean do what he wishes. Dean takes a deep breath and mentally envisions how he is going to replace the bone. He wants to get it right the first time so as to limit the pain Castiel will inevitably feel. Once he is fairly convinced he will be successful, he snaps it back into place. Castiel throws his head back in pain and manages to keep from crying out. Dean gives him a moment before he guides the wing into its folded position.

"I'm going to need that trench coat." Dean says. "I don't know if we'll be able to split it in two but—"

And before Dean finishes his sentence, the coat is separated in perfect halves in his hand. He blinks dumbly for an instant but shakes his head and resumes his mending process. He ties the trench coat halves on Castiel's broken wing so as to keep it in its proper folded position without the Angel having to struggle to do so through the pain. In his experience, a sparrow takes roughly a week to rehabilitate himself from such an injury. He supposes an Angel takes even less time but Dean doesn't think – hopes – they'll be in Hell long enough for Castiel's mojo to kick in.

"Thank you." Castiel says quietly and stands. He turns to face Dean and their eyes lock instantly. And for a moment they're both lost in each other for a reason they can't quite explain. Dean, however, realizes he really likes the Angel's eyes. The blue reminds him of the sky on a warm, sunny day and exerts a certain air of hominess and familiarity. "We need to go." Castiel says.

"Right." Dean nods and follows Castiel again.

For the most part, as they continue to walk the eerie forest path, Dean stares at the ground. He glances over at Castiel a couple of times but never looks anywhere above his chin. He isn't quite sure why he's so flustered and is behaving strangely but decides not to dabble. Sometimes he just can't make sense out of his actions and reactions. Thus he continues as they are, looking at the ground until the ground begins to tremble vehemently again and the landscape changes.

This time there are hills with the occasional burnt trees. However, there are also rotten flowers every now and again that emit a poisonous gas that smells like something similar to sulphur. Dean wonders if they are hazardous to his life but remembers he is dead and so the flowers most likely had no effect on his health because he had none. It is impossible to die in Hell and he has witnessed the proof first hand on multiple occasions but he pushes the gruesome memory away. He doesn't want to think about the thirty years he spent being torn to pieces savagely.

Later, when they stop again for the 'day', Castiel guides them off the path and under the shade of a massive tree. They sit beneath it comfortably and Castiel offers his non-wounded wing as a pillow again which Dean accepts gladly.

"I just need four hours." Dean reminds Castiel. "Wake me up if it's been four hours so we can get a move on."

"I understand." Castiel responds.

Dean flinches when he feels the longer feathers curl around him again but eases into the touch. He isn't quite used to be put in a situation where he is treated the way he would treat a woman – with care and love – but quite enjoys it. He has never really been shown care during his life – something Castiel would know if he really has been watching him his whole life.

Dean looks around them once more and eyes the red hills suspiciously. He can't see anything and yet he can still feel a pair of eyes upon him. He wonders if it's just his imagination.

* * *

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	4. Albus

**Decided to upload the next chapter uber quick before I left for work, don't know if that worked out or not lol**

**I don't have much to say other than etymology fascinates me and I spend probably more hours than I should looking up the meaning for names. I"ve started to get the hang of noticing similarities and commonly used prefixes and suffixes but there are still the occasional names that surprise me.**

**Latin is a cool language.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Turns out I didn't have time until AFTER work lol  
**

* * *

Dean barely sleeps for an hour when he's urgently nudged awake by Castiel. He is still drowsy and heavily confused by everything and it takes him a moment to register the Angel's words. Finally, Castiel snaps and redirects Dean's attention by pointing to something at the foot of the hill on which they're sitting. It looks like a woman. Her clothes are torn and parts of her skin have melted to her bones. Her hair is overgrown and messy, covering her face though Dean imagines it's in a worse condition than her body. She is impossibly thin and should be swaying on her feet but she is perfectly immobile.

"A daemon?" Dean asks wearily, unconsciously gripping at Castiel's arm.

"No." Castiel responds quietly, "I would have sensed her long ago."

"Then…" Dean asks slowly, "What is she?"

"A tortured Spirit, most likely." Castiel answers and begins to stand. He assists Dean in the process holds him closer protectively.

Seeing as Dean isn't being whisked away into the chained sky, he feels very much embarrassed by his seemingly girly role and pulls away from Castiel. He glares at him a silent message of being able to defend himself though the Angel still doesn't let him stray out of his wing's reach.

"She is at the last stage." Castiel says grimly, "A couple more days and the rest of her humanity will be burned away. She is becoming a daemon."

"How long has she been here?" Dean asks, "And why is she following us?"

"I am not quite sure…" Castiel says slowly, "But something tells me she has been hear just a tad bit longer than you."

Dean looks at Castiel and then to the woman. He doesn't know if she's staring at them but it's a fair bet that she is. "What should we do?" he asks.

Castiel responds by pulling out his silver blade without a second thought, "I will smite her—"

Dean manages to grab him before he can attack the woman. "No!" He shouts, "She hasn't done anything."

"Her soul is corrupted, Dean." Castiel tells him, "She cannot be saved. She will most likely aid the others in your capture."

"But she's not _doing_ anything!" Dean defends.

In all honesty, he's not exactly sure _why_ he's defending her. It was as Castiel said, she is a corrupted soul on the verge of becoming a daemon. He has no reason to let her live and Castiel's reasoning is compelling and yet Dean insists. There's something about the woman – pity maybe – that urges him to leave her be. He is reminded of someone he has met but he can't quite place the feeling and identify the who.

Castiel stares at him with a heavy frown. He evidently still wants to purge her but sheathes his blade in his sleeve and grabs a hold of Dean's hand. "Come." He says and leads him away, "We will rest elsewhere."

Dean doesn't argue nor does he pull away from Castiel's hand. He allows the Angel to guide him away and glances at the woman one last time. She still hasn't moved a muscle but Dean feels her eyes following them. He shudders and turns away, a sense of guilt and revulsion settling in his stomach's pit. He doesn't understand why he feels guilty. Perhaps he has tortured her among the many other souls that had found their unfortunate way on his table? He doesn't remember. There were too many of them and none of them stood out.

* * *

The ground shifts once more as they walk away from their resting place. They find themselves on a very narrow trail high in the mountains. Dean peers over the edge and immediately returns to the rock wall upon seeing the never ending precipice. They are in a very dangerous place and he hopes there are no daemons nearby that will attack them. Castiel's wing is broken and if they would ever fall, they would probably never make it out.

They continue to walk and Castiel has a hold on Dean's hand seeing as they are unable to walk side by side. Dean feels himself getting gradually more tired as they climb up and down the uneven path. He wants to rest and sleep; the hour he got was evidently unsufficient. However he doesn't voice his complaint. They're in Hell and Castiel is attempting to save him and he's delaying their progress by insisting on resting for at least four hours at the end of each 'day'.

Castiel nonetheless still seems to pick up on Dean's exhaustion. They soon come unto a small cave on one of the more narrow paths. The Angel leads the way in and, luckily, it's much bigger than it initially appears. Dean and Castiel can stand upright and still have a couple of inches to spare the top of their heads. They seat themselves on the farther end of the cave with a view on the exit and Dean soon falls asleep again. This time he finds no shame in being particularly close to his saviour.

* * *

Dean wakes up with a jolt. Castiel jumps in surprise at his abrupt awakening and looks rather confused by it. He cocks his head lightly to the side and says: "What is wrong, Dean? You have only been resting for two hours now…"

Dean can't quite put his finger on the unease he feels pulsing through his veins. He looks around the cavern wearily and still feels unsafe after seeing it vacant. "I don't know…" and he begins to stand, Castiel imitating him, "I just think we should go…"

Suddenly the familiar silhouette of the partially burnt woman is standing in the cave's entrance. Her legs are parted just like her arms and Dean can see her chest rapidly rising and falling as though she had been running for miles. Castiel immediately pulls out his blade and is about to attack when Dean stops him again. The woman clearly seems more agitated than before and Dean is unsure why he's still allowing her to live when she seems ready to attack them.

"Dean—"

"Just wait!" Dean snaps.

Guilt and repulsion return. He wonders why he feels repulsed by her – he has seen some far more gruesome sights during his stay. And then it dawns on him that the repulsion isn't felt towards the woman but rather in regards to himself. He feels guilty about something he did and is disgusted by it. The feeling confuses and perplexes Dean all the more mainly because he still can't place the woman. He thinks for a brief instant that she might be someone from a case he and Sam worked at one point. He only recalls one that involved Hell Hounds and crossroads daemons that had made a victim of a woman – a doctor. However, Dean never had the opportunity to meet with her when he and Sam took on the case. He seriously doubts it's her.

"Who are you?" He finally asks.

The woman is quiet save for her heavy and noisy breathing. She stares at them and though Dean can't see her face, he feels her becoming angry with him.

"Dean…" Castiel says slowly and his hand wanders to Dean's.

"_Ni subla_." She says.

There's something familiar about her voice. Dean is sure he has heard it before but he still can't remember from where.

"What?" He asks and looks at Castiel for answers.

"She spoke in Latin and reversed the letters." He says and he almost seems as confused as Dean, "She said: _within white_."

"What does that mean?" Dean asks and he isn't quite sure he's asking Castiel as much as he's asking the woman.

The woman doesn't answer and Dean feels her anger filling the room.

"Spirits in this stage are very unpredictable." Castiel informs, "They still retain a part of their humanity but, like daemons, can only communicate in Latin when lacking a human host. More powerful daemons can speak a variety of languages but she is not quite there yet."

"_Ni subla_." She repeats and her irritation is palpable.

"I think she might be trying to get you to remember her." Castiel says.

"I don't know what to associate _within white_ with!" Dean states and his gaze snaps back to the woman as she growls.

"Think!" Castiel encourages and grips at his blade tightly. "Have you ever worked a case with which the words can be associated?"

"No…" Dean says and thinks as hard as he can. The words are so vague and could easily be applied to a variety of things but Dean doesn't know what to do with them. However, he still feels as though he knows what the woman is saying to him. It's like she's…

"What is it?" Castiel asks when he notices Dean freezing.

"I think…" Dean says slowly and looks at her quizzically, "I think she's trying to tell me her name."

The tension and anger suddenly dissipates and Dean knows he has guessed accordingly. He isn't sure why he had assumed that but he was right to. He attributes it to the part of him that seems to know her but can't remember her.

"Etymology…" Castiel concludes.

"I don't know the etymology of names let alone the ones for _within white_." Dean states.

"Luckily, I do." Castiel declares, "I will go in Alphabetical order."

Dean nods. The woman seems strangely calm and patient with them.

"Aeronwen?" Castiel asks.

"No." Dean responds and he wonders why Castiel would suggest such a strange name.

"Ailbhe?" Castiel continues.

"Think modern." Dean offers.

"Bai?" Castiel asks.

"How is that modern?" Dean asks in frustration.

"It is Chinese." Castiel states.

"No." Dean says and shifts his gaze back to the woman. Her name is definitely not Bai but it seems rather close to it.

"Baila?" Castiel suggests.

Dean wouldn't quite qualify that one as modern but it's far too close to the name for him to snap at Castiel. Every fiber in his body screams at him, telling him he knows it and it's at the tip of his tongue but he can't say it just yet—

"Bela?"

Dean freezes.

"Say that again…" He mutters.

"…Bela?" Castiel repeats.

_Bela_.

Dean looks at the woman. Her hair seems to have parted from her face. It's utterly mutilated and yet he can still see the defining features of Bela Talbot, the beautiful and yet incredibly infuriating supernatural thief.

"Bela…?" Dean tries and a spark of humanity seems to return to her.

She stands upright, as though she has been freed from hypnosis or something alike and looks at Dean with familiarity. "Dean…?" She says, her British accent easily distinguishable. "Is that you…?"

A smile breaks out on his face followed by a sigh. But Dean isn't happy to see her. How could he be? She is ruined and on the verge of becoming an abomination. Castiel says she is already lost and Dean doesn't know how to save her. The mere thought of his uselessness in regards to Bela's fate triggers the memory of the dismay he felt when she was dragged to Hell. At the time he felt rather cross with her and didn't let it show that he was bothered by not being able to save her but the emotion was very much present. At the time, saving her would have meant there was a possibility to spare Dean.

"What happened…?" Dean eventually asks.

Bela seems surprised by the question and looks down at her body. She smiles bitterly upon seeing her melted flesh and parts of her exposed bones. "Hell." She says comically, "What are you going to do?"

"How long have you been here?" Dean asks.

"About fifty years or something." Bela admits, "I don't remember pissing off _that_ many daemons but, apparently, I did. I'm paying the price for it now, I suppose."

"I'm…I'm sorry…" Dean says regretfully and, for some reason, the apology sparks a violent anger within Bela.

Her green eyes become animalistic, "Sorry?" she repeats with a growl, "As I recall it, you were going to kill me yourself!"

Dean is taken aback by the sudden change and is too baffled to defend himself.

"All you ever did was push me around!" Bela growls and takes a threatening step forward, "You treated me like a piece of shit, mocked and humiliated me! And then when I was about to be sent to Hell, you told me off! You said you would have helped me if I would have asked but we both know that was bullshit! You took pleasure in knowing I was going in the pit and would be tortured for the rest of eternity!"

"That's not—"

"Shut up!" Bela roars and her voice echoes in the small space, "You condemned me from the moment we met, Dean Winchester! You hated me with a passion, you know you did!"

"She is becoming violent, Dean…" Castiel warns when Bela takes another step forward.

"You would have taken pleasure in torturing me like all the others!" She then snaps and Dean feels terror ripping through him. He wants her to be quiet. He wants her to stop speaking. "I heard about what you did! It's Hell's hottest topic!"

_Shut up._

Castiel looks at Dean wearily.

"Everyone here knows you've become Alastair's prized pet!" Bela continues with a demonic laugh, "Word in the pit says you even let him fuck you a couple of times too! You sick bastard!"

_Stop it._

"You let a _daemon_ fuck you!"

_Shut up._

"_A daemon_!"

Dean can feel Castiel's intense stare and he hates it.

"And now," She gestures Castiel with frustration, "You get to be _saved_! Raised from perdition! All the daemons are freaking out over it, Alastair especially. He doesn't want his _sex bitch_ to leave him."

_Shut the fuck up_.

"Why do you get to be saved, Dean?" Bela asks in dismay, "I am _raped_ and _abused_ by my father and mother! I am _tortured_ by my _family_ and live the most miserable of lives until I'm fourteen and finally acquire the power to make things better. The price, however, is damnation! How is that remotely fair!? Why do I deserve to rot here and become a daemon while your nasty sins are forgiven?"

_I said stop it._

Dean is unable to look away. Bela's skin seems to start melting again as she takes another step forward.

"You've killed far many more people than I have!" Bela continues, "You've _tortured_ souls and let one of the worst daemons out there _fuck you _for the _sheer pleasure_ of it! But the big man upstairs still gives more shits about you than he ever will about me!"

_Fucking stop it!_

"I hate you!" Bela screams.

"_I said shut the fuck up_!" Dean snaps.

He isn't sure how he's gotten a hold of Castiel's blade but he still manages to stab Bela with it. She seems rather surprised and her body flickers orange briefly. She looks at him with a shocked expression.

"I knew it…"

Dean gasps and just then her spirit explodes, leaving only black ashes. Dean stares at it for a moment. Thoughts are racing through his mind, most of them include Castiel. He is afraid to turn around and face the Angel. What will he think of him now? Will Castiel abandon him and leave him to rot in Hell? Surely he isn't worth God's forgiveness after torturing souls, spilling blood and fucking Alastair. A Righteous Man doesn't do those sort of things. He knew Castiel made a mistake. The Angels were probably referring to a different Dean Winchester.

"Dean…"

Dean is shaking. He feels Castiel walk closer to him and stop a few paces behind. He slowly reaches and pulls his blade from his hand. He can't help himself. He falls to his knees and begins to sob. Castiel will leave him behind. Castiel will hate him. Castiel will find him disgusting. Castiel will think he isn't worth saving. Castiel will leave.

Castiel will—

* * *

**Bela, with one l, is the Slavic word for _white_ but also means _within_ in Hungarian. The name was used by multiple Hungarian kings.**

**Am I the only one who wonders about what happened to Bela? I mean, I hated that character (love the actress though, she's Maggie from the Walking Dead :DD) but I'm still curious lol This is my take on what went down lol  
**

**4 reviews are still required to unlock the next chapter**


	5. Forgiveness

**So I'm actually really tired and consequently have no idea if I made any stupid mistakes XD**

**I tend to get verb tenses confused when I'm tired (because the past tense is my default setting) so I hope I actually noticed all of the times I made the mistake and fixed it**

**In any case, ENJOY!**

* * *

Castiel places a hand upon Dean's shoulder. The typical purity and peace Dean normally feels wash over his body is absent and he lowers his head pathetically. He keeps thinking that there's something he could have done to keep Castiel from knowing. He should have let the Angel smite Bela the first time they saw her to avoid everything. He should have known that taking pity on a creature in Hell would lead to something terrible. People were in Hell because they deserved it or were stupid enough to sell their souls to a daemon. The thought seems almost ironic as Dean reckons he mistakenly took pity on Bela whereas Castiel misguidedly took pity on him.

Bela was right, he didn't deserve to be saved.

"Rise, Dean Winchester." Castiel tells him softly.

Dean's breath hitches. He notices how Castiel made use of his last name. He understands what it means. He is going to be left behind. He is going to be forsaken by God and Castiel – by the Angels. He will not be raised from perdition. He will rot in Hell and become the very thing he and Sam once hunted: daemons.

It takes him a moment but Dean finally convinces himself to stand. He nonetheless refuses to face Castiel. It's pitiful, he knows. He's acting like a child. Though he's evidently weak and obviously sobbing, Dean still thinks that keeping the Angel from actually seeing his tears will maintain his status as strong, independent and unbroken. He knows he's wrong but he can't destroy his own logic in his current state. There are more present matters to be dealt with, though Dean hoped to have avoided them.

"Look at me, Dean Winchester." Castiel commands.

His voice isn't as soft as it was moments ago. Dean knows Castiel has begun to see him as what he really is. Dean knows Castiel hates it. Dean knows Castiel is disgusted. His tone suggests it and Dean isn't stupid enough to convince himself otherwise. He must face the truth, as terrible as it is.

Dean slowly turns to face Castiel. The Angel's features are dark and grim. He seems very concerned about what Bela had divulged before dying a second death in Hell. "Tell me the truth…" Dean winces at Castiel's tone, "Did you truly spill blood in Hell?"

Dean is speechless for a moment. He knows the answer is written on his face but that Castiel will want to hear him say it anyway. He doesn't know how to persuade himself to say it. He doesn't want to be left behind. He doesn't want to become a daemon. He doesn't want—

"Yes…" Dean chokes out.

Castiel's eyes widen in something akin to dismay and disappointment. However, that emotion is soon casted aside to make place for the very singular disappointment. The Angel wears it so blatantly and it kills Dean. Dean almost wants to throw himself in the precipice just off the mountain's narrow path. He doesn't want to have Castiel's disappointed stare resting on his person. He doesn't want so many things. But Hell is the place where miseries and misfortunes come true regardless of what someone wants and Dean knows that there is nothing he can no longer do to avoid what is happening.

Castiel will leave him behind. Castiel will hate him. Castiel will forsake him and Alastair will find him. Alastair will torture him. Alastair will tear him down to shreds, build him back up and do it all over again. Dean will suffer for all eternity.

"Cas—"

"Come." Castiel says instead.

He takes Dean's hand and leads him out of the cave. Seconds later they are on the mountain's narrow path and they're continuing their journey. Dean is confused. Dean doesn't understand. He knows he shouldn't concern himself with Castiel's kindness and resolution to break him out of the pit even after hearing what a horrible person he has been for the past decade but he can't help himself. Dean doesn't understand. Dean wants to know. He wants to understand why, after everything, he is still worthy of being saved in the Angel's eyes.

He opens his mouth to try to speak but no words come out. His overwhelming emotions are paralyzing his speech and all Dean can do for now is allow Castiel to lead him and cry. And so he does. And he cries for a long time. At one point, Dean isn't exactly sure why he's crying anymore. At first it had been to lament the horrible deeds he had committed and then it had turned to something else. He didn't know what but the more he thought, the more he realized it was because of Castiel. The Angel hasn't said a word to him and Dean wonders why. But rather than have Castiel explain his silence, Dean wants him to tell him that he is forgiven.

He wants Castiel to forgive him.

But Castiel says nothing and Dean remembers he's in Hell. His utmost miseries will come true whereas his greatest desires will go by ignored.

* * *

They make it out of the Mountain trail and onto flat land without the landscape shifting. The precipice is nonetheless very close to the path and though there is enough room to walk side by side, Dean continues to walk behind Castiel. He feels exhausted now that he has finally stopped crying. He's embarrassed it took him so long. Nonetheless, he still feels like shit and hesitates to speak to the Angel.

Dean looks up at the chained sky, the green smog mixed with the criss-crossing chains seem to be a tad closer now and the light further up is still small but constantly visible. Just when Dean starts to wonder about why they haven't come across any daemons yet, black smoke appears before them and they are surrounded by at least twenty daemons. Most of them are lower class, speaking only in reverse Latin and constantly twitching as they try to keep their primal instincts in control. The stronger daemons are bigger and stand closer to Dean and Castiel all the while maintaining a proud and threatening stance.

"You move quickly for a wounded bird." One of them comments. He drawls his Ss' and moves in such a way that reminds Dean of a snake.

Castiel frowns and draws out his silver blade, ready to fight.

Dean worries. Castiel easily fought off five daemons but this was four times the amount. He's injured and he's alone. There's nothing much Dean can do to assist him since beating a daemon with his hands will literally have no effect. He doesn't want Castiel to fight and get hurt on his account. It's as the thought crosses his mind that it occurs to him that there _is_ something he can do.

He hesitates but Dean places his hand over Castiel's armed one. He forces it to lower as he says: "Don't." Castiel looks at him quizzically and seems far too confused to oppose Dean at the moment. Dean smiles sadly, "It's okay." And then he turns to the daemons to address them, "We'll make a deal." He decides, "You take me and leave him be, let him return to Heaven or wherever he decides to go."

The daemons start cackling noisily, some throwing their heads back violently and some others bending over to cradle their stomach. Dean nonetheless maintains his stoic expression to show that he does mean business. "Dean—" Castiel hisses and takes his hand.

"I don't deserve to be saved." Dean says quietly just before the most powerful daemon speaks.

"And _why_ should we consider taking this deal?" he asks with a hint of mockery and amusement.

"He took down five of your kind single-handedly," Dean states, "And not those weak shits you have standing around you, I mean a couple of guys that would have you shitting yourself."

The daemon frowns and begins to take Dean more seriously. "Alright—"

"Not so fast." Dean interrupts, "I want to make the deal a bit more precise."

"What did you have in mind?" the daemon asks.

"I'll go with you, whatever, that's fine." Dean says, "But no daemon is allowed to harm Castiel and lets him walk out of Hell freely and unharmed. At least, no more unharmed than he already is."

"Wise choice of words." The daemon grins, "It's a deal. Alastair will be happy to have his pet back."

"The things he'll do to you…" Another chuckles and shakes his head.

"The things he'll let _us_ do to you!" One on the left exclaims excitedly.

"You'll feel it forever." The strongest one grins wolfishly.

Dean isn't going to kid himself; he's scared. He can't even begin to imagine what Alastair will do and let others do to him because the man – daemon has an unpredictable and frightening mind. The last comment made was probably right. Dean imagines he will feel whatever happens to him forever.

"Well, good luck." Dean says and turns to Castiel to offer him a last smile. "You should go find your _real_ Righteous Man before you leave. I figure he might kind of be important if an army of you guys descended to get him."

The look Castiel gives him surprises Dean. The Angel looks at him as though he's an utter idiot – like he can't quite believe what Dean is telling him. Dean brushes it off as disbelief or something of the like. Castiel probably wasn't expecting his self-sacrifice because of what he's done. Dean smiles and glances back at the daemons who're waiting for him. He only takes a step forward when Castiel stops him.

"Castiel I—"

"I understand that you made a deal, Dean." Castiel says and Dean flinches as he sees fury in his blue eyes, "But it so happens that I did not."

And Castiel promptly launches himself at the horde of daemons. Dean is surprised by the ease in which the Angel tears his opponents to shreds and smites them. When he saw him fighting before, Dean saw no emotion in the action. It seemed like Castiel was fighting because he had no other choice. Now, however, Castiel seems impossibly angry. He seems like he's taking out his frustrations on conveniently placed opponents. And though Castiel is severely outnumbered, it looks like the current battle is much easier than the previous one.

Soon all of the daemons have been smitten and Castiel and Dean are alone again. Castiel is a couple of meters in front of Dean. He's breathing heavily and clutching his blade in a trembling hand. Dean is still stunned and wants to speak but words elude him. He simply continues to stare at the Angel's back dumbly.

"Do not…" Castiel eventually says and looks back at Dean, "Do not _ever_ do that again."

"Wh…" Dean manages to sound but he doesn't know what he wants to say. He now feels very upset and finds himself fumbling for instant before completely snapping. "I don't get it!" Dean cries, "I'm _not_ your Righteous Man! Why the hell are you still saving me!?"

"You _are_ the Righteous Man!" Castiel growls and takes a step forward.

"I am _not_!" Dean counters, "If I was the Righteous Man, I wouldn't have tortured souls and fucked a daemon repeatedly!"

"And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell. As it breaks, so shall _it_ break." Castiel quotes, "It is unfortunate but does not change who you are."

"What!?" Dean snaps, "What are you talking about?"

"The Apocalypse and the 66 seals." Castiel says, "I thought you were familiar with the book of Revelations."

"I-I am!" Dean stutters and his heart starts to pound violently against his chest.

Dean was never big on religion like Sam was – is; Dean's not sure anymore. However, what with the life he was exposed to at such a young age, Dean only believed in what he could see. Seeing as he had never seen God or met anyone he trusts that has seen Him, he assumed it was just a story people told themselves to be less afraid – just like Angels. He never actually read the Bible either. The most he ever learned about it was of the time he spent at a couple of Catholic schools when John stayed in a city for a job. The rest, mainly about the Apocalypse, came from Sam.

Sam didn't talk about the Bible or the general scriptures avidly. He simply answered some of Dean's questions whenever the latter caught him reading the Bible. One of the times San had read him the very line Castiel had quoted moments ago. He hadn't thought much of it merely because he didn't know he _was_ the Righteous Man.

His thudded particularly painfully and Dean realized he wasn't breathing. His lungs felt like they were imploding and Dean desperately gripped at his chest as he fell unto his knees and suffered another panic attack. He has probably had more panic attacks in Hell than on Earth – this one, however, is probably the most violent. He grips at the red ground, trying to maintain balance as the word begins to spin and his vision begins to wobble. It's like he's on a bad trip.

Castiel tries to speak to him but his words sound jumbled and echo pointlessly in his ears. In that moment Dean feels entirely alone. He is losing his mind – in Hell no less – and is stuck in a nightmare that only seems to get worse by the minute. So much pressure is continuously being added to his shoulders and it all seems unbelievable. A part of Dean hopes that he's in the room Alastair provided him with or even on the torture table. He doesn't want to be Michael's Sword or the Righteous Man especially because the latter titles means he initiated the one thing humans fear the most.

Dean suddenly sees stars and his vision starts to blacken. He's not in control of his body anymore and his mind is strangely calm. He sees Castiel's face fade into the blackness and thinks to himself: _I'm fainting. That's manly._

* * *

When Dean comes to, the landscape has changed. There are trees again and he is lying beneath one. Everything looks miserable and bleak around him until he looks at what he's leaning on and sees Castiel. This time the Angel's wing and arm cradle him close to his body but Dean still doesn't feel a sense of purity or quaintness wash over him like every other time he's touched Castiel. Dean nonetheless remains against Castiel, staring at the dead and poisonous vegetation surrounding them.

"I didn't want to have sex with him." Dean suddenly he says. He isn't sure why he decided to start confessing now but Dean reckons he deserves to be heard. He feels Castiel's gaze upon him and Dean can't bring himself to meet it so he decides to continue. "Alastair." He specifies, "When he took me off the rack, a bunch of daemons got pissed. They weren't done torturing me yet but I'd made a deal with Alastair and he refused to put me back. So a couple of them started showing up randomly and attacking me and Alastair fought them off every time."

Dean pauses at the memory before continuing with a deep frown and empty gaze.

"But then he got bored." Dean says, "He told me that it was getting to be a hassle to constantly save my ass. I told him I could do it myself if he gave me weapons or something and he said I was in no position to be demanding things from him. He was kind of pissy and I was going to drop the matter when he suddenly mentions that we could make a new deal." Dean pauses again and shudders, "He said I could ask him for a weapon and he would deliver if I let him fuck me. And I did."

"He raped you." Castiel concludes softly.

"No." Dean shakes his head and it's only then that he notices the tears falling down his face, "As dubious as it was, it was consensual. But then it eventually just became consensual because I liked it. A lot. I got more and more weapons to protect myself and then, when I had all of them, I just let him fuck me. It's not like I fell in love with him or anything, it was just that I figured I was never going to get out and sex is sex so…" his words trail off.

Castiel looks away to the grim horizon and nods shortly.

"Everything Bela said is true." Dean finally says. "When I first started torturing souls, I didn't like it. I felt guilty but then it grew on me, I guess. I didn't want you to know because I knew you'd hate me for it."

"I do not hate you…" Castiel says slowly and Dean chuckles.

"Yes you do." Dean smiles bitterly, "I feel it."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks.

"Whenever I used to touch you," Dean says, "Purity, peace and calmness would just take over. I felt clean and a bit like myself again. Now I feel nothing."

"I am not the one stopping it, Dean." Castiel says. "You are."

"Hun?" Dean asks, looking at the Angel.

"You are unable to forgive yourself for what you have done." Castiel says and meets his gaze, "Your mind understands that what you have done was in order to protect yourself. Your heart, however, insists that there was another way. But you are only human, Dean. You are in a cruel realm and sometimes humans must do terrible things to survive and that is okay – self-preservation is one of your many primal instincts and it does not disappear after death. Your self-loathing is projecting itself around you, Dean. If you finally come to terms with what you have done, you will find that my opinion of you has not changed in the slightest."

"How?" Dean asks unbelievably. "How could you not hate me?"

"Because I understand why you did it." Castiel answers, "And I already knew far before Bela said anything. I did find you torturing a woman's soul, do you not remember? You are only human, Dean."

"That's no excuse." Dean states.

"Sometimes it is." Casitel insists.

"If you knew I tortured souls," Dean says, "then why are you still trying to save me? I also, apparently, started the Apocalypse. Don't I deserve Hell, now?"

"No." Castiel says softly, "Only the Righteous Man who starts it can end it. Michael needs his Sword and he cannot use you if your soul is trapped in Hell." Castiel pauses briefly and then says, "Dean, you should let go of your remorse. You will get no forgiveness in this place and no else – not even I – can give it to you. The only one who can is you."

"I can't." Dean says and drops his gaze to the ground.

"Then come with me." Castiel says, "Leave Hell with me and do what you are meant to do and stop the Apocalypse. Save the world and consider it your repentance for your actions in Hell – but know that everyone else has already forgiven you. It is not blame that falls upon you, just fate. Until you come to terms with that, please refrain from making deals with daemons. I will _not_ leave you behind and I _will_ protect you no matter what happens."

Castiel stood and then offered his hand to Dean, "Now come. We still have a long way to go."

And Dean took his hand.


End file.
